The rain tapped against the tall windows of Bruno's Palace in Tyrol. Each droplet streaking down the glass in thin, silver lines.
Bruno von Zehntner sat alone at his desk, the flicker of a fireplace painting the corners of the office in shades of gold.
A courier's folder lay open before him, its crisp pages filled with the coded transcript from Riyadh.
The Allies had failed.
He read the summary twice, not out of disbelief, but in quiet satisfaction.
Every word carried the same undertone: polite refusal, veiled disdain. The Pan-Arabian King had dismissed the British, the French, and the Americans with a calm, unshakable reminder, Germany had kept its promises. They had not.
Bruno leaned back in his chair, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. A deal made in honor is a fortress no enemy can breach.
